Arthur Hopcraft’s adaptation took John LeCarre’s novel and turned it into seven episodes of absorbing television. For some people, it’s too long and it’s too talky. Certainly, if you like action, this probably isn’t the programme for you. Tinker Tailor is concerned with men (and the occasional woman) who sit in rooms and talk. There’s the odd spot of action and guns are occasionally brandished – but it’s by no means a thriller.

Central to Tinker Tailor is Alec Guinness as George Smiley. Smiley is less of a talker and more of a listener. It’s a pared-down, minimalistic performance by Guinness – as at times, Smiley is content to remain in the background as a nebulous figure (absorbing the information, but not feeling the need to vouchsafe his own opinions or feelings).

Moving onto episode one, Hopcraft elects open with the meeting between Jim Prideaux (Ian Bannen) and Control (Alexander Knox) where Control reveals that there’s a mole operating at the highest levels of British Intelligence (nicknamed “the Circus”). Control sends Pridaeux to Czechoslovakia to speak to a potential asset called Stevcek, who Control thinks can identify the traitor.

Control has narrowed it down to five possibilities and assigns each a codename –

Pridaeux’s mission is a disaster, he was led into a trap, shot and captured (we later learn that he’s back in England, although his location isn’t divulged).

In LeCarre’s novel, all of this was only reported second-hand, later on. Instead, the book opened with Jim Pridaeux arriving at a minor public school as a temporary teacher. He befriends one of the boys and it isn’t until much later that his identity and the part he played in the abortive operation are known. Hopcraft was probably wise leave this part of the story until later, as opening with a list of suspects is a much stronger hook.

After Pridaeux’s abortive Czech adventure, time has moved on. Control is dead, Smiley’s been sacked and Alleline is now running the show. When we see Smiley, he appears content to potter about doing little – but then he has the misfortune to run into Roddy Martingdale (Nigel Stock).

Martingdale appears to be somebody on the very fringes of the intelligence community who nevertheless wishes to imply that he’s a good deal closer to the centre. He attempts to pump Smiley for information, with no success, and then he moves on to discuss (in acid detail) the four main men at the Circus. As one of these must be the mole (I think we can safely discount Smiley, although it would have been an excellent twist had LeCarre decided to make Smiley the mole after all) his observations are interesting – although like a great deal of what he has to say, possibly not terribly accurate.

Stock gives a fine performance as the pompous windbag and Guinness soaks up all of his inane ramblings with a long suffering air – only right at the end does Smiley show a flash of anger. One interesting point which emerges is that Bill Haydon seems to have been a lover of Ann, Smiley’s wife. Regularly, people will ask Smiley how Ann is, and he will respond that she’s fine – although her present location is a mystery to him. Theirs is clearly a marriage with problems, but it’s no surprise that Smiley (a master of the secret) doesn’t share his thoughts with anyone else.

Before Smiley bumped into Martindale, he saw Peter Guillam (Michael Jayston) in the street outside and hastily beat a retreat in the opposite direction (unfortunately bumping into Martindale en-route). When Smiley gets home, Guillam is already there (he’s an expert with locks). He tells him that Lacon (Anthony Bate) wants to see him. Lacon is the civil servant charged with overseeing the intelligence services and whilst Smiley wearily agrees, he agrees to the meeting nonetheless.

When Smiley and Guillam reach Lacon’s house, they find somebody else is also there – Ricki Tarr (Hywel Bennett). Tarr was a Lamplighter (Circus slang for the people who do the dirty work) but he’s been posted as officially missing. Apart from Guillam, nobody else from the Circus knows that he’s back in England. As Lacon, Smiley and Guillam sit down, Tarr (somewhat relishing his captive audience) begins his story.

I’ve got a story to tell you, it’s all about spies. And if it’s true, which I think it is, you boys are gonna need a whole new organisation, right?

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was certainly a series that took its time. With seven episodes to play with, it could afford to take the long road – and this was very evident in episode two.

Ricki Tarr’s story runs for the first thirty minutes and it’s fair to say that the amount of plot in this section could have easily been condensed down to, say, ten minutes. But plot obviously wasn’t the overriding factor here – rather, it’s character and atmosphere.

So while Tarr’s romancing of the Russian spy Irina (Susan Kodicek) is told at a leisurely pace, it doesn’t feel drawn out and the location filming in Lisbon helps to bring a dash of colour to a series that otherwise exists in the (intentionally) drab world of British intelligence.

Ricki Tarr’s been dispached to Lisbon to liase with station head Tufty Thessinger (Thorley Walters). Tufty is convinced that a Russian called Boris (Hilary Minster) is ripe for the picking. Tarr keeps him under observation for a while and he reports back that Boris is bad news. “We’re definitely in the wrong ball game with this chummy. That’s a professional, a Moscow Centre-trained hood. The way he sets himself. That alone!”

Tarr is about to report back that Boris is a no-go, when he decides to take a look around his apartment and see what happens. It’s dangerous and possibly somewhat reckless, but that sums up Tarr’s character – he’s someone who is supremely confident in his own abilities to extricate himself from any situation.

When he breaks into the flat, Boris isn’t there – but his wife Irina is. Tarr puts on an Australian accent and spins her a line about how Boris has stolen his girlfriend. He manages to use all of his considerable charm to arrange another meeting the following day, but he quickly learns that Irina is no fool.

There’s an English expression. ‘It takes one to spot one’. You wouldn’t have fooled me for long. It’s the way we look for things, isn’t it? We don’t stare. We don’t seem to be looking. We are not like tourists … or prostitutes … or pickpockets. We just know how to see.

The relationship between Ricki and Irina is the heart of the episode – and it’s a fascinating one. As they’re both spies, how much trust can we put in what they say? Ricki seems to be the colder, more professional one. He picks up Irina for no other reason than to understand what makes Boris tick. As their brief relationship blossoms, does he ever feel any genuine love for her? Or is the fact she has information about a mole in British Intelligence the reason for his growing interest in her?

Irina professes love for Ricki. But again, can we believe her? Or is she simply telling him this so that he’ll take her back to London as a defector? The fact she leaves him a series of notes in a dead-letter drop does indicate that her feelings were geniune. By the time he visits the drop, she’s gone – forcibly taken back to Moscow where, presumably, a brutal interrogation awaits. Was she betrayed and if so, was it the mole in London? Her parting gift to him is the sheaf of documents which detail what she knows. “I would prefer to give you my life, but I think that this wretched secret will be all I have to make you happy. Use it well”.

Her notes confirm that the mole in London is known by the codename of Gerald and that he’s a high-ranking member of British Intelligence. She doesn’t name names though, so Lacon needs somebody to investigate the Circus clandestinely and Smiley is the obvious man for the job. Especially since six months previously he tried to convince Lacon that there was a mole – only for Lacon to dismiss him out of hand.

Since the bulk of the episode is taken up with Tarr’s flashback, there’s not a great deal of screen time for Alec Guinness, but he’s still so good when he does appear – especially when he and Anthony Bate are walking through Lacon’s garden, discussing how the enquiry will work. As ever, it’s a masterclass in underplaying.

Smiley and Lacon also discuss how well the Circus has been doing lately, especially with Alleline’s source of material, codenamed “Witchcraft”. The mysterious source, Merlin, has provided the Circus with invaluable intelligence – but the uncomfortable, unspoken question is how much credence can be placed on this material if Moscow have an agent at the heart of the Circus? Is Witchcraft information or disinformation?

That can wait for another time, for now Smiley is holed up in an anonymous hotel, where he can work undisturbed. He plans a trip to Oxford to visit an invaluable source whilst he asks Peter Guillam to break into the Circus to steal some key files …..

Beryl Reid had an interesting career. She first came to prominence in the 1950’s via the radio series Educating Archie, where she played several roles (the mischievous schoolgirl Monica and the Brummie Marlene). During the 1960’s she continued to ply her trade as a comedienne and comic actress across a variety of different series. She would later reflect that “comedy is the longest apprenticeship in the world.”

But it was a non-comic role, The Killing of Sister George, firstly on stage (for which she won a Tony award) and later on film (where she received a Golden Globe nomination), that really bought her to prominence. During the 1970’s she appeared in a number of films such Rosie Dixon – Night Nurse and Carry on Emmannuelle, which are pretty grim viewing, although they’re apparently comedies. But there were also decent roles in several BBC Plays of the Month, such as Mrs Malaprop in Sheridan’s The Rivals and Amanda in Bernard Shaw’s The Apple Cart.

Her somewhat unpredictable career path would later lead her to the role of Connie Sachs in episode three of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Critically, both this and her later appearance as Connie (in Smiley’s People) can be considered career highlights – she was BAFTA nominated as Best Actress for Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and won the BAFTA Best Actress award for Smiley’s People.

In Tinker Tailor she gives an effortless performance as she plays opposite Alec Guinness. Smiley is the patient observer, gently guiding the voluble Connie to the topic he wishes to discuss. Connie cuts a somewhat sad figure – disfigured by arthritis and living in rather shabby surroundings. Like Smiley, she has been cast out of the Circus – and she still feels the pain. “I was the best Head of Research the Circus ever had! Everyone knew that! And what did they say the day they gave me the chop? That personnel cow! ‘You’re losing your sense of proportion, Connie. Time you got out into the real world.’ I hate the real world! I like the Circus and my lovely boys!”

With official Circus records not available to him, Connie is an invaluable resource, since she has instant recall of every case that ever passed her desk. Smiley is interested in an agent called Polyakov and Connie recalls that when she tried to get Esterhase and Alleline to investigate him further, they declined. And shortly afterwards Connie was retired from the Circus. Another example of someone too close to the truth about the mole having to be removed?

Although her screen-time is only a little over seven minutes, it’s still one of the most memorable parts of the serial. “Poor loves. Trained to Empire, trained to rule the waves. Englishmen could be proud then, George. They could… All gone.”

Smiley has entrusted Peter Guillam with the task of obtaining the log recording Ricki Tarr’s reports to London concerning the Russian agent Irina. Smiley reminds him to exercise extreme caution. “You must assume, Peter, the Circus has dogs on you twenty four hours a day. Think of it as a foreign country.”

The Circus, as befits Britain in the late 1970’s is somewhat shabby and tired-looking. This is exemplified by the squeaky lift door. When Guillam says it’s about time that it was sorted, the receptionist gloomily tells him that he’s asked for it to be dealt with on more than one occasion.

Guillam’s visit is fruitless – the log has been tampered with and a vital page removed, but along the way he bumps into Haydon, Bland, Esterhase and Alleline who all react to him with varying levels of suspicion. Haydon seems the most amused. “What the hell are you doing here, you pariah?”. But like all spies, he’s not always easy to read.

These scenes give us our first proper look at the four top men at the Circus – one of whom is “Gerald” the Soviet mole. They didn’t appear in episode two and their only appearance in the first episode was in the pre-credits sequence, when the four of them silently entered a meeting-room.

The scene in the first episode is worth looking at in a little more detail, as even though none of them utters a word, it clearly defines their characters. First to enter is Toby Esterhase, the fact he’s the first to arrive and that he gets up later to close the door behind Haydon clearly demonstrates his fussy, precise nature. Next is Roy Bland, who arrives with a casual air and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Bill Haydon is the third one in – balancing his cup of tea with the saucer on top, he betrays a sardonic, amused attitude. Finally, Percy Alleline arrives, with a pompous, self important persona.

The remainder of the episode is told in flashback, some six months before Control’s death. Alleline has just proudly unveiled his Witchcraft material, much to Control’s disgust.

Alleline: Merlin is the fruit of a long cultivation by certain people in the Circus. People who are bound to me as I am to them. People who are not at all entertained by the failure rate about this place. There’s been too much blown, too much lost, too much wasted. Too many scandals. I’ve said so many times, but I might as well have talked to the wind for all the heed he paid me.
Control: “He” means me, George.
Alleline: The ordinary principles of tradecraft and security have gone to the wall in this service. It’s all “divide and rule”, stimulated from the top.
Control: Me again.
Alleline: We’re losing our livelihood. Our self-respect. We’ve had enough. We’ve had a bellyfull, in fact.

Does Control distrust the material or Alleline? He charges Smiley to speak to Haydon, Bland and Esterhase. “Sweat them, George. Tempt them. Bully them. Anything damn thing. Give them whatever they eat. I need time.”

Smiley draws a blank with all three. First he speaks to Toby Esterhase.

Esterhase: My problem is promotion. I mean the absence of it. I have so many years’ seniority that I feel actually quite embarrassed when these young fellows ask me to take orders from them.
Smiley: Who, Toby? Which young fellows? Roy Bland? Percy? Would you call Percy young? Who?
Esterhase: When you’re overdue for promotion and working your fingers to the bone, anyone looks young who’s above you on the ladder.
Smiley: Perhaps Control could move you up a few rungs…
Esterhase: Actually, George, I am not too sure he is able to.

Roy Bland, despite being a protegee of Smiley’s, is equally disinterested.

If there’s no deal, you’ll have to tell Control to get stuffed! I’ve paid, you see, you know that! I don’t know what the hell I’ve bought with it, but I’ve paid a packet. Poznan, Budapest, Prague, back to Poznan – have you ever been to Poznan? – Sofia, Kiev, two bloody nervous breakdowns and still between the shafts! That’s big money at any age. Even yours.

The relationship between George Smiley and Bill Haydon is tense, since Haydon had previously had an affair with Ann, Smiley’s wife. He does, however, argue quite convincingly that Control’s problem is with Alleline – not the Witchcraft material.

Merlin would do if he were my source, wouldn’t he? If dazzling bloody Bill here pottered along and said he’d hooked a whacking big fish and wanted to play him alone and sod the expense, what would happen then? Control would say, “That’s very nifty of you, Bill boy. You do it just the way you want, Bill Boy. Have some filthy jasmine tea.”

With the personalities of the four top men now firmly established, Smiley begins his investigation in earnest.

In many ways Michael Jayston is the glue that holds Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy together. With Smiley remaining in the shadows until the end, it’s Peter Guillam who has to act as Smiley’s leg-man (for example, venturing into the Circus) to obtain the information that he needs. Guillam isn’t a showy part, but Jayston is perfect casting. When Smiley’s People was made a few years later, Jayston presumably wasn’t available – so the role of Guillam was played by Michael Byrne. Byrne’s a decent actor, but Jayston’s loss was keenly felt.

In episode four, Guillam is able to successfully liberate the Testify file from the Circus file-room, but his hopes for a quick getaway are scuppered when Toby Esterhase collars him in the corridor. “Peter, I am very sorry to disturb you, but we have a crisis. Percy Alleline would like a word with you.”

Guillam finds himself confronted by the Circus’ top-men, with Alleline very much on the warpath. He tells him he’s been seen with Ricki Tarr. Guillam denies this and it becomes obvious that Alleline doesn’t have any proof – it’s more of a fishing exercise. Source Merlin has divulged that Tarr’s wife and child are en-route to England, so logically Tarr must be here as well. And it’s clear that Alleline doesn’t believe Guillam’s denials.

Alleline: What the hell are you shrugging at us like that for? I’m accusing you of playing hooky behind our back with a damn defector from your own damn section, of playing damn-fool parlour games when you don’t know the stakes! And all you do is shrug at me? There’s a law, Guillam, against consorting with enemy agents! You want me to throw the book at you?

Guillam: I haven’t seen him! If anybody’s playing parlour games it’s not me, it’s you! So get off my back!

It’s another scene that throws the main suspects into sharp relief, especially Alleline, who is shown to be both patronising and condescending. And when Guillam wonders exactly what use Tarr would be as a double-agent, Alleline can only respond with bluster. “Well never mind what sort. Muddying pools, poisoning wells maybe. That damn sort. Pulling the rug out.”

Whilst waiting for Guillam to return, Smiley and Mendel discuss him. Mendel’s slightly concerned, since he’s heard some details about Guillam’s past operations – but Smiley remains confident in him. It’s a scene that helps to give Peter Guillam a little more depth.

Mendel: He does sound jumpy. He might have overdone it a bit there. He was very loud. I’ve seen it all before, tough ones who crack at forty. They lock it away, pretend it isn’t happening, all of a sudden you find ’em sat in front of their desks, the tears pouring on the blotter.

Smiley: I think Peter will manage. You heard something about his murderous assignment in French North Africa, I suppose?

Mendel: Something. Whispers.

Smiley: Peter was over-matched, and lost. His agents were hanged. No one recovers entirely from that sort of thing. That is, I wouldn’t trust a man who did.

Later, Smiley and Guillam discuss Karla (Patrick Stewart) the man who is undoubtedly running the mole. Smiley reveals that he met him once – in the mid 1950’s, long before Karla became the legendary figure he now is. In the flashback scene of their meeting it’s notable that Stewart doesn’t have to utter a single word – Guinness does all the talking.

Look, I am not offering you money or hot women or fast cars, you have no use for such things. And I am not going to make any claims about the moral superiority of the West. I’m sure you can see through our values, just as I can see through yours in the East. You and I have spent our lives looking for the weaknesses in each others systems. I’m sure each of us experienced innumerable technical satisfactions in our wretched Cold War. But now your own side is going to shoot you, for nothing. For misdemeanors you have not committed, because of a power struggle within your own kind, because of someone’s suspicions or sheer incompetence.

Karla (Patrick Stewart)

Karla remains unmoved by Smiley’s offer and eventually returns to Moscow, where he wasn’t shot – instead during the next few decades he was gradually able to increase his power-base. When Guillam reflects that Karla’s fireproof, Smiley angrily responds that he’s “NOT fireproof! Because he’s a fanatic! I may have acted like a soft dolt, the very archetype of a flabby Western liberal but I’d rather be my kind of fool than his. One day that lack of moderation will be Karla’s downfall.”

As there’s still three episodes to go, there’s a certain sense on running on the spot – but there’s still some important matters to be discussed. The news that Irina has been executed in Moscow causes Smiley some concern.

Smiley: Ricky Tarr mustn’t know. It’s vital that he gets no wind of this! God knows what he would or would not do if he found out, and we may need to make further use of him.

Guillam: Do you really believe all that guff about Tarr being in love with her? The little homestead in the Highlands? The avenging lover, the honourable Ricky Tarr?

Smiley: He may be compelled, Peter, everyone has a loyalty somewhere. He mustn’t know.

It’s a moment that once again raises the question whether Ricky had any feelings for Irina or if he was purely interested in her for the information about the mole. And Jim Prideaux has been tracked down (he’s teaching at a minor prep school) and it’s clear he’s somebody that Smiley needs to talk to urgently. It’s emphasied that Prideaux and Bill Haydon were great friends. Since this has been mentioned several times before, it’s obviously a point of some importance.

LeCarre’s novel opens with Jim Prideaux taking up his new role as a schoolmaster. Periodically through the book we return to Pridaeux and witness his growing friendship with one of the boys, Bill Roache, nicknamed “Jumbo” by Pridaeux.

Arthur Hopcraft’s adaptation chooses to keep all the school material until this episode, rather than scatter it throughout the story. This was probably the right thing to do, although it does mean we lose a great deal of the interaction between Prideaux and Roach. But a little does remain, such as the scene where Roach spies Prideaux digging up a package. Roach can’t resist taking a peep through the caravan window (where Prideaux lives) and is shocked to see him holding a gun.

Prideaux: We’ve got a secret, haven’t we? I can trust you, I know that. We’re good at keeping secrets, loners like you and me.
Roach: Is it because of that man? Would you shoot him? Are you working undercover, like Bulldog Drummond in the book? Some of the boys wanted to call you Bulldog, but we thought Rhino was better. Bigger than a bulldog.
Prideaux: Well I, uh… I used to be a soldier, Jumbo. What you saw just now, that’s a souvenir, you know, it’s like this…
[he points to his back]
Prideaux: How I got it, they’re both secrets, I keep them to myself. Y’understand that, don’t you Jumbo?
Roach: Yes, sir.
Prideaux: Knew you would, knew you would.

Since getting shot, Jim’s turned into something of an eccentric, at least when the schoolboys are around. He lets them drive his vintage car (an Alvis, his pride and joy) and has clearly made a deep impression on many of them (especially Roach). But he still has wounds that haven’t healed (and not just physical ones) which will be examined later on, when Smiley visits him.

But before Smiley speaks to Prideaux, he makes a call on Sam Collins (John Standing) who was duty officer the night Jim Prideaux was shot. When the crisis happened, Sam was unable to get much sense out of Control – so he recalls how relived he was when Bill Haydon turned up. It’s been repeated several times already just how close Bill Haydon and Jim Prideaux were, and this is clear when Bill takes charge.

All right, Sam. Now, first thing you do, you call this number, it’s Toby Esterhase’s. Tell him you’re speaking for me, and he’s to pick up the two Czechos we’ve had our eyes on in London School of Economics, and lock them up. Now, right away, Sam. Jim’s worth a lot more than those two, but it’s a start. I’ll have a word with the chief hood of the Czech Embassy. If they hurt a hair on Jim Prideaux’s head, I’ll strip the entire Czech network in this country bare. You pass that on. I’ll make him a laughing-stock!

Later, Smiley speaks to Jim Pridaeux. Given the number of flashbacks we’ve seen in the series so far, it was a little surprising that we don’t see Pridaeux’s interrogation by the Czechs – instead Pridaeux just tells us about it. But in retrospect, that’s actually a plus – as it allows Ian Bannen full reign to describe exactly how bad it was. And sometimes, words are more powerful than pictures – for example, when he describes the moment they finally broke him. “I hoped I’d go mad. And no, they knew how to stop that. They left me alone for a couple of days; got me ready for the long one. That was when I ga… ga… gave… g… gave them what they wanted.”

Another interesting moment is when Smiley discusses the friendship between Haydon and Prideaux. Haydon recommended Prideaux for the service and Smiley is able to quote verbatim from part of the letter that Haydon wrote to the Circus talent-scout, some thirty years earlier. “He has that heavy quiet that commands. He’s my other half. Between us we’d make one marvelous man. He asks nothing better than to be in my company or that of my wicked, divine friends, and I’m vastly tickled by the compliment. He’s virgin, about eight foot tall, and built by the same firm that did Stonehenge.”

If Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a collection of great acting moments, then Ian Bannen’s in this episode must rate very highly. And although his part of the story seems to be over, events might prove otherwise ….

Smiley’s hunt for the mole leads him to a rather dingy London drinking club. There he meets Jerry Westerby (Joss Ackland). Westerby is a newspaper reporter who’s done odd jobs for the Circus in the past – such as delivering packages to dead letter drops. “Telephone kiosk, ledge at the top, dump a little package ready for collection.”

Westerby is clearly somebody who enjoys the cloak and dagger aspect of the job, as well as the glamour of operating on the fringes of the intelligence services, though it seems that his usefulness has come to an end. Possibly his fondness for alcohol is the reason. “Firewater not good for braves. They think I’ll blab, crack up.”

Or it may be because of what he knows about the Jim Prideaux shooting. Westerby was in Czechoslovakia at the time and he learnt that “the Russians moved in on Saturday, it was the day after they got Jim. Russians knew the lot, knew he was coming. They were lying in wait for him. Bad story, you see. Bad for big chief. Bad for tribe.” When Westerby returned to England he told Toby Esterhase, but Toby professed not to believe it, dismissing it as nothing more than drunken ravings.

It’s a lovely cameo from Ackland and Guinness is his usual excellent self. Whilst it’s clear from the outset that Westerby wouldn’t necessarily be Smiley’s first choice as a lunch companion, he’s easily able to tease the information out of the newspaper man. As always, Smiley asks many more questions than he answers – witness the end of lunch, as Westerby wonders exactly what Smiley’s been after. Guinness remains inscrutable, offering very little. At one point, rather than commit himself, he smiles – and the camera remains on him as the smile slowly fades away. Tight close-ups (switching between Ackland and Guinness) are used in this scene, very effectively. As they finish their lunch, Westerby muses about Toby Esterhase.

If Smiley has tended to be mostly passive so far, eliciting information rather than sharing it and not expressing too many of his own opinions, that changes once he confronts Toby. It’s the first time he’s spoken to one of the four suspects and it signals a major turning point in the story.

Toby meets Guillam at a safe house – apparently to see a potential agent – but instead he’s met by George Smiley. Now it’s Smiley who does the majority of the talking, whilst the camera closes in on Toby’s increasingly pained face. Guinness is, once again, excellent, as he’s able to fillet and humiliate Toby – but in the most gentlemanly way.

George Smiley: Ever bought a fake picture, Toby?
Esterhase: I sold a couple once.
Smiley: The more you pay for it, the less inclined you are to doubt its authenticity.

Eventually it becomes clear to Toby that source Merlin, and his London representative Polyakov, has deeply compromised the Circus. He’s desperate to assure Smiley that he knew nothing about it, as well as downplaying his own involvement.

Esterhase: Why pick on the little guy? Why not pick on the big ones? Percy Allenine, Bill Haydon!
Guillam: I thought you were a big guy these days.
Smiley: You’re the perfect choice, Toby: resentful about slow promotion, sharp-witted, fond of money. With you as his agent, Polyakov has a cover story that really sits up and works. The big three give you the little sealed packets of chickenfeed, and Moscow Centre thinks you’re all theirs. The only problem arises when it turns out you’ve been handing Polyakov the crown jewels, and getting Russian chickenfeed in return. If that’s the case, Toby, you’re going to need some pretty good friends. Like us. Gerald’s a Russian mole, of course. And he’s pulled the Circus inside out.

Afterwards, Smiley commiserates with him. “Poor Toby. Yes, I do see, what a dog’s life you must have had running between them all.” It might be just another scene of people sat in a room talking, but in the context of the story it’s riveting stuff. The result is that Smiley’s happy to discount Toby as a suspect, so that leaves the other three.

Now we’re into the endgame. Toby has told Smiley about the location of the safe-house where Polyakov meets the representatives of the Circus. In order to flush out the mole, a crisis needs to be created (so he’ll arrange a crash meeting with Polyakov). He sends Ricki Tarr to Paris and instructs him to telex the following message back to London Station. “Have information vital to the safeguarding of the service. Request immediate meeting. Personal.”

So after seven episodes, the identity of the mole is revealed. It’s interesting that they didn’t pad it out for longer, instead the reveal happens at the ten minute mark. Peter Guillam displays understandable anger at the lives lost. “You butchered my agents… How many since? How many? Two hundred?… Three?… FOUR?” Smiley remains calm, although in his own undemonstrative way he does display the odd spasm of anger later on.

So Gerald the mole was Bill Haydon. Smiley contacts Lacon, Alleline, Bland and Esterhase and plays them the incriminating recording which proves Haydon’s guilt.

Esterhase: Well, that’s that. Congratulations, George.
Lacon: Next step, gentlemen?
Smiley: Would you agree with me, Percy, that our best course of action is to make some positive use of Bill Haydon? We need to salvage what’s left of the networks he’s betrayed.
Alleline: [weakly] Yes…
Smiley: We sell Haydon to Moscow Centre for as many of our men in the field as can be saved – for humanitarian reasons. Professionally, of course, they’re finished.
Alleline: Quite.
Smiley: Then the sooner you open negotiations with Karla, the better. Well, you’re much better placed to talk terms than I am. Polyakov remains your direct link with Karla.
Lacon: The only difference is, this time you know it! It’s definitely your job, Percy. You’re still Chief, officially… for the moment.
Percy Alleline: Very well, George.

It’s a moment of triumph for Smiley, but there’s no overt display of emotion or triumphalism. Indeed, as we’ll see, it’ll turn out to be something of a pyrrhic victory. Although as the above dialogue extract indicates, he must have displayed some pleasure in Alleline’s discomfiture, who is clearly on borrowed time as Chief.

Before Haydon is sent back to Moscow, the interrogators are keen to extract every piece of information they can. The next time we see him, his face is covered in bruises, there’s blood on his shirt and he’s walking unsteadily – a clear sign of how he’s been “encouraged”.

It’s felt that he may open up more to Smiley, and in a way he does. This enables Guinness to take up his usual role as the largely unspeaking observer – but it’s nevertheless quite easy to understand exactly what he thinks and feels just by the expressions on his face. Ian Richardson takes centre-stage in these scenes as he explains why he became a Russian agent.

Haydon: What do you want to know?
Smiley: Oh… why? How? When?
Haydon: Why? You ask that? Because it was NECESSARY, that’s why! Someone had to! We were bluffed, George. You, me, even Control. Those Circus talent spotters, all those years ago. They plucked us when we were golden with hope, told us we were on our way to the Holy Grail… freedom’s protectors! My God! What a question… “why?”

Smiley learns that when Haydon had the affair with Ann, it was on Karla’s orders. He also keen to know about whether Haydon expected Jim Prideaux to be sent on the abortive Czechoslovakia operation. As the friendship between Haydon and Prideaux has been stressed several times, there’s an undeniable sense of emotion as he replies to Smiley’s questioning.

Smiley: Did you expect Control to send Jim Prideaux?
Haydon: Well… obviously we needed to be certain Control would rise to the bait. We had to send in a big gun to make the story stick, and we knew he’d only settle for someone outside London Station, someone he trusted.
Smiley: And someone who spoke Czech, of course.
Haydon: Naturally. It had to be a man who was old Circus, to bring the temple down a bit.
Smiley: Yes, I see the logic of it. It was, perhaps, the most famous partnership the Circus ever had: you and him, back in the old days. The iron fist, and the iron glove. Who was it coined that?
Haydon: I got him home, didn’t I?
Smiley: Yes. That was good of you.

The clearest sign that Haydon has got under Smiley’s skin is demonstrated by the angry way Smiley opens the door after he’s finished his questioning. A small moment, like many of Smiley’s brief displays of anger, but it’s quite telling.

Haydon never made it back to Moscow, he was murdered before the exchange could be made. The novel implies (but doesn’t overly state) that Jim Prideaux killed him, the television adaptation is a little clearer on this point.

This leaves a final scene, which effectively acts as a coda, in which Smiley and Ann discuss her latest (completed) affair as well as Bill Haydon. She tells Smiley that she never loved Bill, and her final words “Poor George. Life’s such a puzzle to you, isn’t it?” is a bittersweet ending to an exceptional drama serial.